


Tricks of the Trade

by forestgreen



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: kink_bingo, First Time, M/M, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:23:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestgreen/pseuds/forestgreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Harry's first time. The whelp needs a bit of a handicap if he's going to fuck Jared to an orgasm.  </p>
            </blockquote>





	Tricks of the Trade

**Author's Note:**

> This story wouldn't exist without **akelios** , who held my hand through it, made encouraging noises, demanded more when I slacked, and was the best alpha reader a girl could hope for. I also want to thank **grenegome** for taking the time to go over the story despite her busy RL. ❤ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Happy reading!

The hairs on the back of Jared's neck rose and his muscles tensed as fight-or-flight instincts awakened. The stench of faerie was everywhere, sweet and cloying. It teased Jared's heightened senses like an itch. His nostrils flared and he growled low in his throat, making a passers-by jump in surprise. The old man gave Jared a fearful look and hurried away, the tap-tap-tap of his rising heartbeat and the intense smell of fear an open invitation to hunt. Jared ignored it. Bigger fish to catch. 

The temperature dropped as he followed the faerie's trail: Winter Court. Powerful. _Old_. It didn't want to kill him or it would have hidden its tracks better, unless that was part of its plan. One could never be too sure with the Sidhe. 

Jared wasn't surprised when the trail took him to the door of his current bolt-hole. The house defenses had been demolished. There was no subtlety to it, just sheer magical force, like taking a hammer to a glass cabinet. A faerie that old could have slipped through without leaving a trace. It wanted Jared to know that it was waiting. 

Jared kicked the door open, hands hovering over the sharp iron knife hidden in his coat. The faerie might prove to be friendly, but it was still a faerie. Paranoia had proven to be Jared's best survival trait.  

"Good afternoon, Hellhound. You've kept me waiting," a melodious voice called from the darkness. 

Jared didn't need his heightened senses to identify his visitor. He would have recognized that voice anywhere. "Leanansidhe." He nodded in greeting but didn't take his eyes off her. 

The Leanansidhe's alabaster skin glowed in the darkness, her physical form barely able to contain that much raw magical power. Jared wanted to kiss those lush, red lips and trace the perfect curve of her collarbone with his tongue. He stood still until the wave of desire ebbed. "It's been a long time," he said, forcing himself to meet her eyes. Their cat-like pupils shone gold in the darkness. 

"So it has," she acknowledged. She waved her hand and the room brightened. The bluish tint of the magical light made the abandoned warehouse seem colder than it was. "You're a hard man to track." 

"Had I known you wanted to see me I would have made it easier," Jared lied. A quick peek around didn't reveal any further surprises. He stepped inside and shut the door, being careful not to turn his back on the Leanansidhe. "What brings you to me?"

"Margaret's husband was killed yesterday," she said and stared at Jared as though she wanted to peel his skin off to find out what lay inside. 

Jared was careful not to react. 

"She had powerful enemies," he said with a shrug. "I'm actually surprised he survived her at all, let alone for so many years."

The Leanansidhe pursed her lips, anger flashing through her face. "She left him protected. Someone went to great lengths to break through her spells." 

"As I said, powerful enemies." Jared didn't relax his stance. Did the Leanansidhe think he was the one behind the attack? Was she here to avenge LaFey? The two of them had been close. It had been an odd relationship, but Jared had seen stranger things in the course of his very long life. "It still doesn't explain why you're here," he pointed out. 

She glided through the room until she was standing right in front of him. The hem of her silken green gown brushed over Jared's boots as she leaned even closer to whisper, "Of course it does. Our godson is now an orphan. We are duty-bound to help him." 

Jared froze, caught off guard. "Who told you he was my godson?" LaFey had fucking sworn to him she wouldn't tell anyone. Jared should have known better than to believe a wizard, no matter how fucking pretty and manipulative she was.

The Leanansidhe smiled, obviously pleased. "You just did. Margaret had plans for the boy, and magic that powerful requires symmetry. A godmother to save the boy from death, and a godfather to bring death to his doorstep." 

"You took a risk, coming here," Jared said. "What if you'd been wrong?" 

"Of all her acquaintances, you and I are the only one who wouldn't have cared that she switched sides." Her eyes narrowed. "Right or wrong mean nothing to us. Such fleeting things. . . . What's right today will be wrong tomorrow, and on and on the cycle goes." She pouted. "Mortals _are_ fickle creatures." 

"That might be so," Jared admitted, "but it doesn't mean I give damn about the whelp, godfather or not." 

The room temperature dropped abruptly. "You swore an oath to protect the boy, Hellhound, and I will see you fulfill it," the Leanansidhe hissed.

When Jared spoke again, his breath hung like fog in the air before it faded away. "If you're so worried about the kid, why don't you take him with you?" Jared asked, sensing a trap.

"I can't. Not yet," she bristled. "I'm bound by my word, thrice given. Margaret made sure I couldn't touch the boy until he was old enough to understand my offer, but he's still mine to protect. You _will_ take him in."

"My debt was to LaFey, not her offspring." Jared clenched his fingers around the hilt of the knife, knowing that the Leanansidhe would not accept his refusal without a fight. 

"Oh, but you have more than one unpaid debt, Hellhound. If your debt to Margaret will not bind you, then your debt to me shall," she said, brushing her cold lips against the shell of Jared's ear. 

"I don't owe you jack shit," Jared said. He didn't close deals with the High Sidhe if he could avoid it. 

The Leanansidhe laughed out loud. "Yes, you do, Hellhound. Mother Winter helped you break the chains that bound you to Vlad Drakul. You have yet to repay her." She closed the fingers of her hand over Jared's throat. As she pressed down, the ghost of the magical collar that had controlled Jared's every movement for centuries tightened around his neck, choking him. 

A wave of nausea threatened him. Only centuries of training allowed him to think past his fear. "I wasn't aware Mother Winter had traded away my favor," he rasped out. 

The Leanansidhe smiled. "It wasn't cheap."

"I'd hope not," he said, regaining some of his confidence. "Let's get down to business, then. What is your price?" Anticipation coiled inside him. Centuries waiting for this moment and here it was at last. His final debt would be settled, and he'd be rid of the Sidhe. 

"You will take the boy with you, and you will keep him safe until I come to collect him," the Leanansidhe said.

"And when will that be?" Jared asked.

"In eleven years, eleven months, eleven weeks and eleven days I will come for the boy. If you have kept your part of the bargain I will free you of your debt to Winter," the Leanansidhe chanted in the language of the Unseelie. The power of the magic rose between them and closed on Jared, wrapping itself around him.

"Will my debt to Mother Winter be fulfilled if I keep the boy safe until you come?" Jared asked. 

"Yes, it will be," the Leanansidhe answered.

"Do you swear?" Jared insisted.

The Leanansidhe's eyes narrowed and she spat, "Keep the boy safe until I come for him, and your debt will be paid. Thrice said and bound."

"You have yourself a deal," Jared reluctantly admitted, wondering what the hell he was going to do with a child.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nine years later ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bullet hits its mark with perfect accuracy, and Jared can't help the rush of pride that washes over him, doesn't even try. The whelp is going to be one of the best assassins the world has ever seen, and it's all Jared's doing. Barely three months past fifteen and Harry's first solo kill has gone without a hitch.

Jared is _proud_.  

"Target's dead," Jared says as he lowers the spotter scope.  
   
Harry is practically vibrating next to him, heady with the rush of the kill. "I did it!" Harry says, voice filled with a bastard mix of awed disbelief and delight.  
   
Jared swats him on the head, more of a rough caress than a real slap. "You aren't done yet, Whelp. What have I told you?"  
   
"No gloating until we're in another city and two months have passed without being trailed," Harry parrots in a rather good imitation of Jared's lecture voice. "But I still did it," he insists, not deterred in the least. "The shot was perfect, as good as any of yours."  
   
"It wasn't bad," Jared acknowledges with a grunt, and Harry beams with happiness. Jared rolls his eyes in disgust. He hadn't planned on praising the whelp unnecessarily, but the little hint of doubt in Harry's voice made him reconsider.  
   
Harry starts taking his rifle apart with record speed while Jared puts the scope away and double-checks the bullets in his .45 and his Beretta. By the time he's done, Harry has finished too. 

With his baseball cap and baggy clothes the whelp looks younger than he actually is. No one would think he's carrying more weapons than a SWAT team, let alone that he knows how to use them. Harry looks like a grumpy teenager forced by his father into a tedious camping trip. A couple of years more, and he'll be too old for that cover to work, but for now it's good.  
   
Jared leaves the cleaning up to Harry, watching him erase their tracks and clear all possible evidence that might link the death back to them. He oversees Harry's work carefully, making sure the whelp doesn't forget anything. They hit the road two hours later. The adrenaline keeps Harry awake for another half an hour, before the excitement of the last few days finally catches up with him and he conks out, drooling against the car window. 

Jared stops the car a couple of hours later and shakes Harry awake. Harry follows him, still sleepy, trusting Jared to keep them safe. At some point Jared is going to have to train that blind faith out of him, but the whelp's magic hasn't manifested yet, and Jared wants to delay it as much as possible. The kind of training required to break Harry's trust would call his magic out, making it harder to keep the boy hidden from LaFey's enemies. 

Jared pointedly ignores the voice telling him that he's gotten soft, that the magic is just an excuse not to hurt the boy. It's Vlad talking inside his head. If Jared has learned anything during the last few centuries, it's that he's better off doing things Vlad wouldn't have approved of.  

"You awake enough to order?" he asks Harry, shoving one of the menus at him. 

Harry rubs his eyes and yawns, "Sure." He goes for a steak, French fries and a huge glass of Coke.   
   
Jared frowns at the odd choice. He had thought Harry would go for cheeseburgers with Key Lime Pie, his usual victory dinner. Steaks and French fries are Harry's comfort food.  
   
To anybody else the boy would seem all right, but Jared has known Harry since he was nothing but a raw, bleeding wound of pouring grief and desperation. The whelp has gotten better at hiding his emotions but Jared knows all of his tells. Raising a child wasn't something he would have chosen for himself, but Jared has somehow managed. 

Harry has been easy enough to manage so far. It's not as if Jared particularly cares about most things human parents do. He lets the boy eat junk food and come home as late as he wants. He doesn't care if the boy fails his classes. In the grand scheme of things it won't matter at all. Harry is destined for bigger things. Of course, that only means that Harry comes home early, calls when he's going to be late, does really well in all his classes and is in general a rather good kid as far as modern human parenting standards go. It's probably Harry's failed attempt at teenage rebellion. At least they both agree on the wonders of junk food.

"Is everything all right?" Jared asks, aiming for the right mix of interest and nonchalance that will make Harry open up to him.  
   
Harry darts a look at him and flushes red. "Sure," he says, all teenage petulance and misdirection. Jared isn't fooled for a second and he knows that Harry knows it.  
   
"All right," he says, letting it drop for the moment. Harry will tell him sooner or later. The whelp has yet to master the ability to keep things hidden from Jared. He mulls over Harry's odd behavior during dinner, watching with a frown as Harry inhales his food like a rabid wolf. 

"Do you want me to order another dessert?" he asks fondly. The only way Harry's ice cream bowl will get any cleaner is if he starts licking it. 

"No," Harry says and blushes again, dropping the spoon with a loud clang. "I'm done. I'm tired. Is it all right if we stop here and get a room?" 

Jared had wanted to drive some more, but Harry is giving him the puppy eyes, and it's no trouble to let the boy have his way this once. Harry had done well. He deserves a reward. "Okay," Jared agrees. 

It's easy enough to find a hotel. Jared checks for possible traps (supernatural and human) while Harry maps the exits. The room is surprisingly clean for the price they are paying, if a bit on the small side. Harry calls dibs on the bathroom, rushing past Jared before he can protest. Jared frowns after him. The boy isn't acting right, and it bugs Jared that he doesn't know the reason. 

He's talking with their employer, telling her where to wire the money, when it occurs to him that this was Harry's first kill. Jared raised the boy to think of targets as just that, _targets_. Until today he was convinced he'd done a rather good job. Harry had never been squeamish about helping Jared before, but maybe being the one pulling the trigger made it different. Jared is aware that most humans shy away from killing, but he'd always assumed that was a nurture thing. But what if he was wrong? What if it was a human thing Jared didn't get thanks to his demon blood?

He studies Harry carefully as the whelp comes out of the bathroom. Harry rummages in his bag for a clean pair of jeans, unaware of Jared's scrutiny. 

"Do you regret it?" he asks Harry point blank. There's no point in beating around the bush.  
   
Harry steps into his jeans and closes the zipper. "Regret what?" he asks absently.  
   
"Killing the target," Jared clarifies, studying Harry's reaction carefully.  
   
"Why would I?" Harry seems truly puzzled, as if the idea hadn't even occurred to him.  
   
Something inside Jared eases. He doesn't want Harry to have regrets. The kid is a natural at close combat and has a sharp mind for details. He's still too prone to leap before thinking, but once he learns to curb those impulses he'll be perfect. When his magic finally comes online, he'll be a force to be reckoned with. 

"Well, something _is_ bugging you," Jared says. "I'm done being patient. Spit it out."  
   
There it is again, that damn blush. For a moment Jared's sure he's going to have to push the issue, but then Harry straightens up and gives Jared that mulish look that means he's come to a decision, and it will take hell and high water to move him. "You said I could get whatever I wanted after my first kill," he says at last.  
   
Well, this ought to be interesting, Jared thinks, taken by surprise. He had said that, _four years ago_ , when he started taking the boy as a spotter to field missions. It's very mercenary of Harry to bring it up now. Damn, Jared is one hell of a teacher.  
   
"Ah, I did say that, didn't I?" Jared says, allowing some of his approval to shine through. Harry might not be Jared's by blood, but he is Jared's by everything else that matters. "What is it you want then, Pup?"  
   
Harry makes a sour face at the nickname but doesn't protest. The last time he dared, Jared called him Pup non-stop for three months until he stopped twitching and learned to accept it. It had been hilarious. 

"I want to have sex," Harry says in a rush and blushes crimson red. 

Jared has to bite his tongue not to laugh out loud. "It's not as if I'm going to stop you, Whelp. Didn't we have the sex talk five years ago?" That had been a fun lecture. "You must remember it; I've seen your browser history." 

"You hacked my computer?" Harry asks, appalled. 

"Sure, you need to use better passwords and erase your Internet tracks. Consider it a lesson." Jared's smile was all teeth. There were days when this whole parenting thing was just awesome. 

"You're impossible," Harry mumbles. 

Jared chuckles. "Tell me something I don't know." 

"Fine," Harry says and raises his chin, a stubborn set to his lips that Jared knows all too well. "I'm ready to try the sex thing now." 

"Good for you," Jared says slowly, not sure where Harry is going with this conversation. "Go ahead, have all the sex you want. If you're old enough to kill, you're old enough to fuck," Jared states. "I'm kinda surprised you haven't yet. I was pretty sure you and that Brian boy had popped each other's cherries back in Cincinnati. You were practically joined at the hip. It was all, Brian this and Brian that every two seconds, like a broken record."

Harry's nose twitches and he shrugs. "He was an idiot." 

'Idiot' is Harry speak for many things. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," Harry says a bit too fast. "Look, we aren't talking about Brian. I want—"

"No," Jared interrupts him. "We're talking about Brian until I say we aren't." That's Jared no-nonsense tone. The one he reserves for missions and fights he intends to win no matter the cost. "What did he do?"

Harry looks away. "He said he wasn't a faggot." 

Jared growls low in his throat. He's tempted to drive back to Cincinnati and teach that Brian boy the reason he's called the Hellhound. "Is that why you stopped playing football?"

"He told people I was queer," Harry confesses. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jared demands. The room feels suddenly too small. Jared wants to kill someone very badly, and he doesn't even mind that no one is going to pay him for it. Sometimes killing is its own reward. 

"What were you going to do? Help me beat him up?" Harry snaps. He's angry now, but that's fine by Jared. He'd rather have Harry angry than hurt. 

Jared snorts and rolls his eyes. "If you can't beat up that loser by yourself, then I raised you wrong." 

Harry cracks a smile. "Some of his friends tried to rough me up a bit, but they didn't stand a chance. Looks like you did a good job after all."

"Damn right I did," Jared grouses and adds, "You should have told me anyway." 

"I had it under control."

Jared shakes his head, trying to convince himself to drop the issue. He trained the whelp to deal with worse things than a couple of sexually insecure punks. Jared's being irrational and he knows it. "I could have given you pointers for a good revenge," he says sullenly. 

Harry smirks, and the bloodlust on his face startles Jared. He knows that expression; he's seen it in the mirror often enough. 

"It was personal, Jared," Harry says. "I wanted to handle it by myself." 

"Fair enough," Jared reluctantly agrees. 

"So . . . about the sex thing," Harry says, peering at Jared from between his eyelashes. "Are you going to do it?" 

Alarm bells start going off in Jared's head. "Wait a second? What do I have to do with the sex thing?"

"Jared, don't be dense," Harry scowls. "I want it to be you . . . my first. Boys my age are too stupid, obviously. At least you'll know what you're doing."

Jared's stomach drops. He's having that same 'oh-shit' sensation he gets when he's run into an ambush. "We can get you a hooker," he offers. "Hell, with the money you've earned today, we can get you the best pro in the country." 

"I don't want some hooker." Harry's scowl deepens. "I want it to be you. You said I could get whatever I wanted after my first kill." 

Yes, it's official. Jared is in deep shit. "Well, last time I checked slavery has been outlawed in this country. 'Whatever you want' has limits," Jared snaps. 

Harry recoils as if Jared had slapped him. "Oh, I thought. . . . Sorry, I–I didn't—I thought you liked me." 

"Pup, of course I like you," Jared feels at a loss. The last thing he wants is to hurt the boy. 

"Then why don't you want to have sex with me?" Harry asks in a small voice. "You have sex with everyone, even with people you hate. You have sex with _targets_." 

Jared doesn't know how to explain it. "It's not the same, Pup. I _raised_ you. I spend a whole year trying to convince you that dinosaur footie PJs were not appropriate outdoor clothes. You aren't just anyone. Besides, I'm much too old for you." 

Harry rolls his eyes. "Jared, you're much too old for _everyone_. It's not like that's ever stopped you." 

Jared laughs despite himself. "Watch it," he says, swatting at Harry's head. 

Harry moves away before Jared's hand can connect, expression still serious. "It's not just some childish wish, you know. I've been thinking about it for a while now. In a year the Sidhe will come for me." He looks into the distance, lost in thought. "I've been reading about them—the books you gave me." 

Of course he has, Jared didn't expect anything else. "Then you know she can't take you unless you consent." 

"They use sex and desire like a weapon. All the books say it. Is it true?" Harry asks. 

"Yes," Jared hesitates to admit. He wonders if it would have been easier to raise the boy in a lie. It's a moot point anyway. Jared knows he did the right thing. The whelp's heritage would have caught up with him sooner or later. Ignorance would have just gotten Harry killed. And there were Jared's own enemies to consider, most of whom aren't even human. No, Harry needed to know. 

"I'm not ready to deal with the Sidhe, Jared, and you know it," Harry says. He seems suddenly fragile, standing half naked in the middle of the dingy hotel room, hair still wet from the shower, jeans riding too low. "If sex can and _will_ be used as a weapon against me, then I need you to teach me how to wield it," Harry continues, mouth set into a tight line. "Why's it different than a knife or a gun? Some teenage boy my age can't teach me what I need. I want it to be you. Please, Jared. Am I really that ugly that you can bear the thought?"

"Whelp, you aren't ugly," Jared says and pulls Harry into a tight hug. 

He holds on until the tension coiled in Harry's frame eases. Silently, he assesses the pros and cons of Harry's proposition. 

It's not something Jared had thought about before this instant. When he thinks of Harry, he still sees the shell-shocked little child who Jared picked up from social services two days after his father had been killed. Sometimes, he sees the too cocky ten-year old that loved to climb on trees like some kind of deranged monkey. But Harry is almost Jared's height now, even if Jared can't remember _when_ that happened. The last nine years have come and gone in the blink of an eye. 

Jared doesn't do love, not in the way purebred humans do, but raising Harry is the closest he's come to understanding the sensation. He certainly gets why whole countries have been razed to the ground in its name. There's not much Jared wouldn't do for the whelp. 

He pushes Harry away and studies him, taking in every detail. He _is_ too young for Jared's tastes, but two centuries ago he would have been old enough to start his own family. There are still countries where fifteen is already old enough for more than just sex. He won't be able to hide Harry forever. LaFey's enemies—and some of her friends—will use sex to enslave the boy: the Leanansidhe, Mab, the White King. 

Jared remembers all too well what that feels like. Vlad laughs inside his head, and Jared ignores him. He knows what he needs to do. 

"Yes," Jared says, more to himself than to Harry. "I can teach you that, too." Silently he adds, _just don't fall in love with me. I don't want to be the one who breaks your heart._ He knows it's a useless warning, though. Either the boy will, or he won't. The heart is a capricious thing. Maybe it's for the best. Jared can pretend to be whatever Harry needs for as long as necessary. 

"You're going to do it?" Harry asks, disbelief plain in his voice. When Jared nods, Harry throws himself at him, a blinding smile on his face. "I'll be so good, Jared. You won't regret it. I swear."

Jared laughs. "Okay, Whelp, lesson number one. Sex isn't about impressing your partner, it's about having fun. The rest will come on its own." 

Harry nods eagerly, and for a moment Jared's terrified that the boy will take out a notebook and start taking notes. Time for a distraction. 

"I'm going to kiss you," Jared says, breaching the short distance still separating them. It's a chaste kiss, barely a brush of skin on skin. 

Harry's lips are dry and a bit chapped. He gasps in surprise and touches his lips when Jared moves back. His eyes widen as if he can't quite believe the kiss really happened. 

"Another," Harry says, one part request, two parts demand. It's the same tone he uses when he wants to order a third dessert and isn't sure if Jared will allow it. 

Jared shakes his head and brushes his thumb against Harry's cheek. "Your turn," he says, wanting to see what Harry will do.

Harry doesn't hesitate. He practically throws himself at Jared, tongue pushing past Jared's lips with an edge of desperation, as if he's terrified that Jared will change his mind. Harry's mouth is wet and hot and _eager_. 

Jared kisses back hard, fast, matching Harry's force. He lets Harry set the pace, reining in the part of him that wants to take back control. There will be time for that and much more later. This is about Harry, and Jared intends to make the whelp's first time as memorable as he can. 

Harry breaks the kiss, panting for air against Jared's neck. His hands clutch at Jared's t-shirt as though he isn't quite sure what to do with them. He probably isn't. 

"That was some kiss," Jared says, and it isn't a lie. Harry's enthusiasm makes up for his clumsiness. 

"You're not going to make me stop at first base, are you?" The whelp is aiming for confident but he can't completely disguise the hint of insecurity in his voice. 

"We'll stop when you say you want to," Jared reassures him and licks the corner of Harry's lips, seeking entrance. Harry obliges, mouth opening in a silent gasp, half anticipation, half desire. 

Jared takes his time exploring Harry's mouth. He keeps the kiss gentle, moving away whenever Harry starts to speed things up. Harry is deliciously greedy, and it's hilarious to hear him curse like a sailor whenever Jared stops kissing him and forces him to slow down. Harry catches up with the game soon enough, and then their kisses turn into a teasing battle: feint, attack, lick, bite, retreat. They are both laughing and panting, mouthing at each other. 

Harry flails in surprise when one of Jared's thighs pushes against his groin. It's rather attractive so Jared does it again, relishing the way Harry arches back his head while his hips lurch forward. The curve of Harry's neck is an open invitation Jared can't resist. He doesn't even try. 

Harry squeaks. "Jared, do that again," he says, voice thick with arousal. 

Jared obliges him. Harry's whole body shakes with pent-up desire when Jared's lips close on his neck. Jared bites down on the sensitive skin and Harry shouts. He licks at the faint bite mark and grazes the edge with his teeth. Harry shudders and bucks, clutching Jared's shoulders. Jared's smirk turns downright evil as he sets to work, determined to find out just how many other noises he can get out of the whelp. 

Harry pants and moans, mumbling words of encouragement mixed with threats and pleas. The rocking motion of his hips against Jared's thigh grows urgent. He's not going to last long. Jared is more than fine with that. He nibbles along the throbbing pulse of Harry's jugular and sucks at the bulge of his Adam's apple while he pushes his leg against Harry's cock, giving the whelp that tiny bit of extra friction. 

Harry's fingernails dig into Jared's skin as he comes with a shout. Jared continues to rock against him, prolonging the orgasm until Harry starts to moan in distress. Jared stills and kisses the edges of Harry's slack mouth, while he waits for Harry to regain his breath. 

"Damn it, Jared," Harry grunts after a couple of minutes. "You should have let me take off my pants first." 

Jared chuckles. "And let you forgo that rite of passage? I didn't want to deprive you." 

Harry swats his hand against the back of Jared's head and deadpans, "How very considerate."

"Knew you'd approve," Jared says, unable to help the shit-eating grin stretching across his face. 

"Need any help with that?" Harry asks, sliding his hand down Jared's stomach. His bravery fails in the last second, and he stops before he reaches Jared's cock. His fingers hover over the edge of Jared's waistband, unsure of their welcome. 

Jared kisses the top of Harry's head, erasing the unnecessary doubts. "Sure. I could use a hand . . . or we could fuck," Jared offers after a brief hesitation. "It's your show."

Harry's eyes meet Jared's and he swallows, gathering his courage. "I want to f-fuck," Harry says and blushes. 

"We can do that," Jared says and is surprised at how rough his voice sounds to his own ears. He opens Harry's pants and helps the whelp take them off. Harry twists and turns in a useless attempt to help. "Stay still," Jared growls, the arousal making the words sharper than he means to. It's his field voice, the one Harry's been trained to obey without questioning. 

Harry freezes and his pupils widen. A sharp whiff of arousal fills the room. Jared can't tell if it's Harry's or his. It's enough to shatter his self-control. "Damn it," he snarls and starts to work on his own clothes, disposing of them swiftly. 

"Can I move now?" Harry asks plaintively. His eyes keep darting to Jared's cock and then up again, as if he can't quite help himself. 

Jared wants to lick the flush stretching from Harry's face down to his neck. The realization that he _can_ makes him dizzy with lust. He pushes Harry onto the bed and crawls on top of him, bracketing the whelp's face between his hands. "Not yet," he whispers into Harry's ear and starts working his way down Harry's torso, licking, biting, nibbling. 

By the time he reaches Harry's groin, the whelp has lost all semblance of control. He's writhing against Jared, clutching at his hair, his hips thrusting uselessly against thin air. He's hard again. Jared's mouth waters as the smell of sex and come hit his enhanced senses. The air is filled with it but it's not the same as being close enough to touch—to _lick_. Jared drags the flat of his tongue along a spot of drying semen, loving the way Harry wails and arches up against him. 

Harry's desperate with desire and the sounds he's making are driving Jared crazy with lust. He plays Harry's body like he would an instrument, bringing the boy to the edge only to stop in the last possible instant. Teaching the whelp the tricks of _this_ trade is going to be fun. Jared can't remember why he even thought to resist.

"Jared, come on, please," Harry whines as his hands try to pull Jared's head away from his cock. "I'm too close, damn it! If you make me come again this soon I'm going to get a complex," he protests, but he's still thrusting helplessly against Jared's mouth. "And you're paying for the therapy," he rasps out. 

Jared takes pity on him. He bites the inside of Harry's thigh in retaliation before he starts kissing his way up Harry's body. "I knew sending you to private schools would backfire. You're starting to sound like a spoiled brat," he says, grinning against the curve of Harry's collarbone. 

"I _am_ a spoiled brat," Harry declares. "Come on, I want to touch you, too. Please?" 

"Okay," Jared says, easing off Harry's body. Harry surges forward and bumps his head against Jared's nose, catching him off guard. 

"Fuck," Jared curses and falls back on the bed, holding his nose. 

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to do that," Harry says in a panicky voice. "Let me see." He tries to pry Jared's hand away. 

By the time the flair of pain recedes, Harry looks so terrified and concerned that Jared can't help laughing at him even though his nose is still hurting. "This is the first time you've managed to catch me by surprise with an attack," Jared chuckles. "Point to you, Whelp. I thought you'd be in your twenties before it happened." 

"Oops," Harry says, a hairsbreadth away from laughing.

Jared can't have that. "Of course, you realize this means war," he says in a conversational tone before he pounces. 

It's a credit to Jared's training how swiftly Harry shifts from relaxed to fight-mode. They wrestle for dominance and it's as brutal and dirty as Jared likes it. Winning is the only thing that matters, and Harry knows it. There's no such thing as clean fighting when you're a mercenary. 

Jared is glad he got to Harry early enough that the whelp didn't have time to learn any of those ridiculously chivalrous attitudes most modern men are raised with. Harry bites him and pulls at Jared's hair. He tries to knee him in the balls and uses every dirty trick Jared ever taught him and some he must have invented himself. It isn't enough, of course. 

Harry contorts out of Jared's grip like an eel, rubbing against Jared in all the wrong (or right) places. Jared feels his control slipping away by the second and that would be too dangerous. He can almost picture how easy it would to pin Harry down and _take_. He's hard and leaking. Harry isn't doing any better. Jared is almost tempted to let the whelp win this round. Smug looks good on Harry. 

Then again, Jared likes his victories too much. 

He headbutts Harry and the whelp's grip goes slack with surprise. Jared uses the opportunity to reverse their positions. He straddles Harry's back, using his knees to pin the whelp to the bed. Jared's cock presses against the curve of Harry's spine, smearing precome over Harry's skin. Jared's eyes zero on it. He wants nothing more than to bend down and lick it clean, trace each of Harry's vertebra with his tongue until he reaches Harry's tailbone, and then keep on licking further down. He can imagine the noises Harry will make when Jared finally parts his ass and eats him out with his tongue. The demon part of Jared wants it _now_ , and he has to fight it for control. 

This is about Harry after all. "I win," Jared says, lowering himself to nibble at the back of Harry's neck. 

The whelp struggles some, but it's a weak attempt. They both know that Jared has him right where he wants him, and there's not much Harry can do about it. 

"Fine, you win," Harry acknowledges with a grunt and goes limp. Jared knows better than to ease his hold. After all it was him who taught Harry to fight. "Don't get too used to it," Harry warns him, shifting underneath Jared, testing the strength of his grip, but he isn't trying to get away. "Are you going to fuck me or what?" 

Such petulance. Jared can't help but smile. He bites Harry's nape just because he can. "Or what," he says. 

"Jared, don't you dare!" Harry hisses, trying uselessly to turn around and face Jared. He sounds like an angry cat. Jared loves it. "You promised!"

It's just too much fun, really. "What?" Jared says, all fake innocence. "I already delivered. I was so great that you came in your pants." 

"That wasn't great!" Harry snarls, increasing his struggles. "Any jock at school could have made me come in my pants. I'm fifteen! Watching vinyl long enough can make me come in my pants. You said you were going to teach me!"

"And I'm going to," Jared reassures him, thrusting down once, letting Harry feel how hard he is. 

Harry groans and his hips jerk. He tenses for a second as if unsure of what to do and then he raises his hips again, rubbing his ass against Jared's cock. Harry fists the bed sheets, seeking leverage to move. He moans brokenly when Jared leans down to bite gently at his neck, mouthing along Harry's collarbone and shoulders, memorizing the smell of him—sweat, semen and arousal. Jared is lost in the slow dance of their bodies, the way Harry moves like water beneath him, yielding but unstoppable. 

Jared is digging his fingers in too hard, leaving finger-shaped bruises over the pale skin of Harry's hips. He tries to let go, but it's impossible with Harry rutting against the bed sheets and back into him, demanding more. 

_Beautiful,_ Jared thinks and bites Harry's flesh to keep the words in. 

"Jared," Harry pants, out of breath. "If we don't stop now, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast again." 

"I have faith in your refractory period," Jared whispers, increasing the pace as he mouths over the teeth marks on Harry's back. 

"You said you'd fuck me," Harry gasps. "Liar." 

He's way too coherent in Jared's opinion. Harry smells of desperation and lust. It's almost better than the smell of blood. _We could have both,_ Vlad whispers in his ears, and despite centuries fighting that craving Jared still shivers with desire.

"We'll get there, when I think you're ready," Jared says to Harry, tuning out Vlad's voice. "I get to choose the lessons."

"I'm ready now," Harry complains. "I'm about to implode . . . with how ready I am. You're—shit, do that again—the worst teacher ever," Harry says, but he spreads his legs obediently when Jared shifts his weight and presses one of his thighs between Harry's. 

"You don't know my lesson plan yet," Jared says as he grazes the skin over Harry's ribs with his fingernails. Harry keens. It makes Jared want to dig his nails harder until the blood wells. He wants to _mark_ Harry. 

"Jared, stop being such fucking cock tease," Harry hisses, pushing his hips up, giving Jared's fingers better access as they trail down and down. 

Jared brushes his fingers over the crack of Harry's ass, forefinger barely ghosting over the puckered skin of Harry's hole. So very pretty and tight. Jared loves fucking virgins open. Too bad he has other plans for the night. "Don't rush me, Harry. Good things come to those who wait." 

"Stop with the crappy clichés and fuck me already," Harry snaps. "Seriously, if y-you don't . . . get on with the p-plan, I'm going to put an ad on Craig's list. Desperate virgin boy in need of good fucking. This is San Francisco, the offers will pour." 

Jared chuckles. "We could do that. I'll even pay for the ad, but only if you let me watch. Bet you'd be pretty, begging for cock while all those strangers come to fuck you. We could make a fortune, whoring you out. Would you like that? Think you'd love it as much as I did?" He dips the tip of his finger inside Harry, breaching through the resistance. Harry's hole is hot and a bit too dry, only sweat and need easing Jared's way in. Harry pushes back, wanting more, but Jared follows his movement, refusing to give it to him. The muscles of Harry's asshole flutter against Jared's finger, clutching him, trying to drag him further in. 

"Didn't know you were a whore," Harry says. "Should have. Is there anything you haven't done?" 

Jared nips one of Harry's buttocks. "Listen to teenagers who want to tell me what to do." 

"Maybe you should. We have the best ideas," Harry says dryly. 

"Really?" Jared says in a conversational tone as he pushes his finger another inch further in. "Tell me, then." 

Harry pants and spreads his legs impossibly wide. It looks as if he's not going to answer at first, too lost in his own pleasure, but after a while he finally says, "Yeah, fucking me . . . g-great idea."

"Uh-huh," Jared says, taking his finger out and pushing it back in but no further than before. Harry's whine is delicious. "You already said that. Flesh out the action a bit more. How exactly should I be fucking you?" he asks, knowing that Harry will balk. He might be a cocky, self-assured little thing, but he's still a virgin, and they tend to be prudish about such things—at first, anyway. Of course, Harry could surprise Jared, and wouldn't that be just as great. 

"Damn it, you know how," Harry snaps, and Jared has to bite his lips not to laugh out loud. He doesn't want to offend the whelp, at least not too much. 

"Well, yes, I do," Jared says. "But you seem to know better. So, tell me. Otherwise we'll just do it my way," Jared points out. 

"I—Jared, please, come on. Just do it. You could . . . you could do what you're doing now, but . . . with more fingers . . . and then . . . fuck, your cock. Please." Harry rolls his hips, trying to get more friction. It's a clumsy uncoordinated move, but it manages to steal Jared's breath away. All of a sudden he doesn't feel like teasing anymore. 

"No, I don't think that's what I want right now," Jared says and pushes his finger all the way in. Harry's protests turn into a loud shout as his hips rock against the bed and back into Jared's hand, asking for more. 

"Don't get me wrong, Whelp," Jared continues, a bit out of breath himself. "We'll get there. I'll lick you open with my mouth and then push my fingers into you one after the other until you're begging me to fuck you as if your life depended on it. But first, I want to know what your cock tastes like, and I want to feel your lips as you swallow me so deep down your throat that you forget how to breathe. You'll look so pretty choking on my cock, desperate to come and utterly at my mercy. I can't wait for that to happen." Jared groans as he imagines it. 

He's torn between the images his own words are painting and the way Harry's hole is closing around his finger, pulling him in. It's fucking beautiful it's what it is. Jared moves his finger, searching. 

Harry screams and bucks, and yes, there. Jared does it again, savoring Harry's reaction. Gorgeous. He keeps hitting Harry's prostate, again and again, can't really help himself—doesn't want to. 

"Yeah," Jared says, licking the edge of Harry's armpits. "I'll give you what you want. I'll fuck you so hard, you'll feel me inside you weeks later. I'll put my cock where my finger is, and it'll hurt, but you'll love it. I'll _make_ you love it. But you have to earn it first, Whelp. Think you can do that?" 

Harry is beautiful like this, writhing beneath him. So very responsive. It's almost impossible to imagine that no one has done this before, that Jared gets to be the first to touch him like this. By the time others find their way to Harry's bed, the whelp will be less open, more versed in the arts of lying with his body. Jared will make sure of it. He's even looking forward to a time when Harry will want to share others with him, but knowing that he'll be the only one to see Harry this undone makes his heart clench in ways that are too human for his comfort. 

"Tell me how," Harry half pleads half demands. 

"How what?" Jared asks speeding up his hand. The whelp is so close. Jared just needs to wait him out a bit. 

"Earn it," Harry gasps. "H-how?"

Jared takes his finger out, ignoring Harry's protests, and covers him with his body. His cock is nested within Harry's ass cheeks. He thrusts, pre-come making everything hotter and smoother. He could just . . . but no, not yet. He needs to hurry up his game before he forgets himself. 

He leans over Harry until his chest is flush with Harry's back. His lips ghost against the shell of Harry's right ear as he whispers, "Gotta work for it, Whelp. This _is_ your wish after all. Nothing is free, first rule of the trade." Jared punctuates each word with a thrust, pushing Harry's cock against the bed sheets, making sure the friction is just right. Can't be too long now. "You want me to fuck you open until you're dying for it, you gotta do me first. Open _me_ up with your fingers, put _your_ cock in me and ride me like it's the last thing you'll ever do. Fuck me until you come, messy and wet inside of me." 

Harry jerks as if he's being electrocuted and howls Jared's name. 

"Yeah, just like that. I won't even mind if you come first," Jared tells him as he keeps rolling his hips, increasing the pressure, adding that bit more friction, making Harry's orgasm last. 

He keeps it up, until Harry's pants turn into tiny whimpers and Harry rasps out, voice like gravel. "Stop moving . . . hurts."

Jared rolls off of him and lies on his side. His cock's still rock hard and leaking, but it's easy enough to ignore. Jared's had centuries of practice. Anticipation is half the fun, and well, he's not a total jerk, despite evidence to the contrary. It's Harry's first time. The whelp needs a bit of a handicap if he's going to fuck Jared to an orgasm. 

Harry groans with exhaustion as he forces his muscle to move. It takes him two tries, but he manages to half-turn himself until he's facing Jared. "I hate you so much right now," he says. His face is resting on Jared's collarbone and he sounds way too fucked out and pleased with his lot in life for Jared to take it seriously. "That was mean." 

Jared chuckles. "When have I ever given you the impression that I'm a nice guy?" 

"You bought me ice cream on Saturday because I was nervous about the job," Harry reminds him. 

Jared huffs. "Don't be ridiculous. I just got it because it was on sale." 

Harry's eyelashes flutter against Jared's neck, and his lips move as if he's smiling. "Keep telling yourself that." 

Harry's fingers trail down Jared's stomach and his hand brushes tentatively against Jared's cock. "Do you want me to . . . ?" He yawns. "Sorry, I don't think I can't get it up so soon. Teenager's stamina is not everything is cracked up to be." 

Jared cradles Harry's head closer, skimming his thumb against the edge of Harry's jaw. "It's all right," he says. "I can wait."

"You sure?" Harry asks, moving closer and rubbing his head against Jared's chest, looking for a comfortable spot. 

"Yeah." Jared strokes Harry's back, playing with the hairs of his nape.

"Okay," Harry says and next thing Jared knows, the whelp's breath has evened out and he's asleep on top of Jared, mouth slightly open, drooling on Jared's chest. 

Jared smiles despite himself, both sides of him, human and demon, oddly at peace. It's easy to close his eyes and enjoy the moment. He's too caught up with images of all the things he wants to do to Harry—all the things he wants Harry to do to _him_ —to notice when he too falls asleep.

 

El fin

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story. Feedback is ❤


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